Imladris Found! Boromir's Daily Musings
by CraZYdUCKIE
Summary: Sequel to Musings While Lost. Boromir's thoughts, torments and amusements while waiting for the Fellowship to set off: Paranoia, unfortunate allergies, androgynous elves, conspiring hobbits and a rather irritating Aragorn all torment the poor guy- enjoy!
1. Week 9: The Humiliation Begins

October 25th 3018

Finally worked out the date, having actually arrived here yesterday; never before has a warm, soapy bath felt so good. Mind you, the clean clothes felt pretty good too. Last night was like a dream, with the warmth, cleanliness, pretty people and finally good sleep- I can kind of see why the elves never leave this place.

Unfortunately, considering how wonderful yesterday was, today has been like an eternity of boredom, frustration and lingering feelings of insecurity around all these gorgeous elves. In short, the council was today.

There was much singing and reciting of history, as well as a debate in which they picked a Halfling to carry possibly the greatest weapon ever crafted- in order to destroy it. I am so incredibly pissed off about that bit that I can't even express it properly considering the dignified elleth within earshot of my room.

The council itself, up until that point, was incredibly, dreadfully, interminably, frustratingly boring. Now, as a child, my father would tuck me in and tell me stories of Isildur, of the Ring, of Sauron's final embodied battle, and all the relevant, historically accurate gory bits that I loved as an eight year old. They were exciting because father would whip out his sword and make dramatic slashing noises, as well as doing this really funny and oddly nasal 'Sauron' voice which always sent me into hysterics of laughter.

At the council, we had all the historical boring crap, minus the cool gory bits, dramatic noises and funny voices. I was nearly bored to tears- well, I was _actually_ bored to tears, but that was during one of the elves' songs, and I acted like it was because I was moved by the music or some such crap, so it doesn't count.

I so wish that I had send Faramir instead- he loves this stuff, boring as it is.

PS – Have decided to ignore Wilfred. He's only after the attention, after all.

October 26th 3018

It is so relaxing to finally be at rest, to not have to be anywhere or do anything but that which I care to do- I have never before experienced this sensation, what with Gondor being invaded all the time by dark forces bent on world domination.

October 27th 3018

Elrond's sent out some scouts to collect information on location of dark forces, etc. All v. exciting, but in the meantime, we all have to just sit here and do nothing. I'm a man of action, dammit!

October 28th 3018

Went to the training courtyards today- the elves are all freakishly fast. I can't help but feel like they take away the fun of watching- when the fight's a blur, I can't even pick out who's winning before somebody's flat on their arse.

Had a go myself, with this bloke who seems to be the only other Man at this place- he won two, but so did I and as we prepared for a fifth round, the lunch bell rang. As we walked back, he introduced himself and I realised that this was the guy trying to muscle in on the Gondorian throne. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Chieftain of the Dunedain, etc- who I beat, twice. I feel like a ninja.

October 29th 3018

Wandered over to the archery practice yards today, watched a really fetching elleth shoot several bulls-eyes from what seemed to be half a mile away. I went over and remarked that I had never seen an elleth so skilled in archery- at which point the ellon introduced himself as Legolas of Greenwood and I fled.

October 30th 3018

Am now really cautious when addressing elves, for I cannot tell them apart. The only ones I recognise are Elrond, who has really scary eyebrows, and Arwen, who is really, really, incredibly good looking, even for an elf.

Has occurred to me just how few mortals there are around here. There's just me, Aragorn, the hobbits and the dwarves, pretty much. I can't tell the dwarves or hobbits apart either, but none of them are female, as far as I know, so that should be okay.

I think I'll go get drunk with Aragorn and do some intra-species bonding.

October 31st 3018

There's nothing I hate more than a man who can't hold his drink, and Aragorn remained (mostly) sober despite us going through a good two casks of some really excellent wine. I have a hangover to kill a medium-sized horse and he's prancing around like sunlight isn't the worst invention since Balrogs- I think I could grow to hate that man.


	2. Week 10: The Previously Unknown Evil

November 1st 3018

I experienced such a painful hangover yesterday morning that I decided the only cure was more booze, and encouraged the dwarves in their merriment- this morning, that feels like a mistake. Something seems to have died a horrible death in my mouth and I think it may be my tongue- taste is a sense that I could really go bereft of right now.

Drowning looked to be quite a good idea, so I went outside to dunk my head in a water barrel, only to encounter the Hobbits on their way to the dining hall and be bowled along with them. I'm an extremely good warrior and at least double the size of the hobbits, but my manly strength failed in the face of a hideous combination of circumstances- I had just walked from my room to the outside, and had accordingly felt daggers of sunlight pierce my eyes and painfully rape my corneas; my ears were being assaulted by incredibly loud birdsong and the harsh, irritating chatter of the hobbits; I had bruises all down my legs from who-knows-what last night, which the hobbits poked until I went with them. Basically, I was ready to crawl into a dark, dank pit and die in order to attain some kind of sensory deprivation- and then the hobbits began chattering and poking me and saying I should go eat with them.

I must say, I had never before realised the cruelty of hobbits- I had always imagined them as cheerful, happy, friendly little things, but I was clearly wrong in my assumptions. Even an orc would feel pity for me, so horrible was my hangover, and the hobbits just talked_ more loudly_.

After being dragged to the dining hall, I was forced to endure more hobbit talk- they talk of the next meal _while they're eating the current one_- and the bastards kept pulling me back when I tried to do the manly thing and crawl under the table whimpering.

May the Valar have mercy on us all when these bastards have the Ring, for _they_ clearly won't.

November 2nd 3018

Today, feeling more human than embodiment of a painful hangover, once I went to breakfast I went to sit with the hobbits, since I figured- hey, if there's cruel bastards when I'm in pain, maybe they're just amusingly cutting in their wit when I'm normal. This, as it turns out, was a mistake. An awful, awful mistake.

You know those people that, despite whatever un-Valar-ly hour of the morning they wake up, are always irritatingly chipper, cheerful and loud in their conversation, constantly offering friendly advice about your breakfast selection like it _matters_ what crap you have to eat to get going in the mornings? Those people that are the first to go when the crazy guy at the front desk finally snaps- the hobbits are like that. And there are _five_ of them.

Coming here was clearly a _huge_ mistake, on par with swearing some kind of Unbreakable Oath or pissing off Eru so he sinks your island. I am going to end up killing one of these sweet, evil hobbits- that, or they'll conspire with Wilfred and get me in my sleep.

November 3rd 3018

Successfully avoided the hobbits, but immediately discovered that I then had nothing interesting to do for the rest of the day. Elrond says we're going to be here for practically another month still, and I've run out of things to do already.

November 4th 3018

Bored

bOred

boRed

borEd

boreD

Bored

bOred

boRed

borEd

boreD

Bored

bOred

boRed

borEd

boreD

Bored

bOred

boRed

borEd

boreD

Bored

bOred

boRed

borEd

boreD

Was so bored today, I went down to the Hall of Fire, which is where they do music and stuff in the evenings. There was this one elf (male… I think) who felt the need to relate to us in a monotone the events of the _entire First Age_ in the form of Sindarin poetry. This, however, was not (his?) worst crime. The most awful part of the while thing is that I was sitting next to Erestor who, because the whole damn thing was in Quenya, felt the need to whisper a translation. This meant, naturally, that I had to both stay in the Hall and stay awake, for without a translation the poem would be meaningless and rather dull- mind you, I didn't notice much of a difference between the two in terms of 'How Long Can We Torment Boromir With This Boring Crap.'

November 5th 3018

I have the vague feeling that there should be fireworks today, for some anachronistic reason or another. Oh, well.

I visited some of the workshops today- the smithy, the pottery, the weavers. I hung around the smithy for quite a while, since they were reforging Narsil, that badass blade that got smashed by Sauron and then cut off the Ring- it really gives you a sense of history, you know? Anyway, I kept asking questions until they got annoyed and kicked me out. Father did always say that I could pester the patience from an immortal being.

After that I visited the pottery, which basically consists of a big oven, a bunch of manually-spun table things, a painting workbench and a cadre of snooty elves with artistic temperaments and upturned noses to match- as one can imagine, I left there pretty quick.

And then, of course, the weavers- those were pretty interesting for about three seconds until I realised it was a bunch of sticks with string in between. I tried to liven up the joint by suggesting they make them into slingshots or miniature catapults and they suggested, quite firmly, that I leave.

So yet another productive day at Imladris comes to an end- Sweet Eru, I'm bored.

November 6th 3018

It's kind of depressing that I'm spending all my time here pissing people off, when back home people are fighting and dying to keep people safe.

Father _so_ should have sent Faramir. He'd be blissfully happy and never leave the library.

November 7th 3018

*Sigh*

I'm bored.

Author's Note: At this point, I would like to take a vote- I have two options. One is to continue this diary-style fic with Boromir making snarky remarks and being put upon until his death by Orc. The other is to insert my OC Cassandra from modern Earth and make this into an incredibly sarcastic Sue-satire that will no doubt induce rage in many readers.

The first option is more conventional and remains within canon- the second allows me a greater range for my ideas and the withering hatred for modern-earth-sues that I have developed.

If you want a say, say it now- otherwise it'll be down to a flip of the coin.


	3. Week 11: The Chapter With The Sex Jokes

November 8th 3018

I was wandering through the library today, hoping to find some kind of interesting book to read, when I accidently crashed into a shelf- I really ought to stop overindulging on the wine at night- and the shelf swung back to reveal a secret room. This intrigued me, obviously, so I went in to have a look and discovered several bookcases filled with some of the filthiest novels I have ever had the pleasure of encountering. As I picked one at random and started to read, I realised that these weren't just random smut, they were in fact the secret sex diaries of Elrond and his wife, Celebrian. Those two were together for a very long time and apparently spent much of that time doing the nasty and writing about it. Judging by the girly script- mind you, Elrond's writing isn't terribly masculine either- the books themselves were written by Celebrian, presumably while her husband was busy ruling Imladris.

Naturally, I thought this was hilarious and immediately picked out the earliest one by date, figuring that I could spend the rest of this tedious waiting period reading my way through the bookcases and cracking dirty jokes about Elrond's sex life- wouldn't you?

I crept from the room and sealed it again, then went from the library to find someplace shady and pleasant to read.

Curiously enough, however, whenever I had settled down and started reading, random elves would appear and start staring at me rather pointedly, so I spent the rest of the day trying to find someplace in Imladris to sit and read my smut in peace.

November 9th 3018

… so I found out why elves kept glaring at me yesterday, in what was possibly a combination of the most painfully embarrassing and utterly hilarious conversations of my whole life.

This morning after breakfast, Aragorn came over to talk to me, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. There was a really awkward moment while I looked at him expectantly and he fidgeted, but he finally broke the silence with, "Um… Elrond asked me to speak with you about something…"

I naturally translated this as 'I drew the short straw and the bastard made me do it,' but nodded for him to continue.

"Er- did you know that all elves have a minor psychic field? For most of them it's just impressions, but when the thoughts or mental images are really, um, _intense_, they can see them pretty clearly."

I still had no idea what Aragorn was talking about, but he was looking more and more uncomfortable by the moment.

"That's really interesting, Aragorn." I commented eventually, with the unspoken addition of 'Why the hell and you telling me this?'

He grimaced and continued, "And, you may not know, elves do not have sex until marriage…"

"Uh-huh."

"And so it is quite distressing for some of the more delicate elleth to experience images or thoughts of that nature."

There was a _really_ awkward silence, until the penny dropped and I connected the dots.

"…oh."

"Yeah."

"ohhhhh."

"Yeah."

"Damn."

"Yeah."

"They really don't…?"

"Nope."

"Aren't you betrothed?"

"…yeah. Elrond won't let us marry until I come until my inheritance."

"So you haven't…?"

"No."

At that point, I burst into that kind of gut-wrenching, side-splitting laughter that most people only experience once in their lives.

"You- haha- you're a virgin! Eru Illuvatar, you're a virgin? That's frigging _hilarious_! You're betrothed to the hottest thing on two legs _and you can't touch her_ _until you become King_! You _unlucky bastard_! Oh, but even better- the Strider is _famed_ for his swordsmanship, _if you know what I mean_, and you're a bloody _virgin_! There's rumours going around about you tiring out harems of Haradrim _and you're a virgin!_ You're _eighty_ _years old_ and your adopted father is _cockblocking you _until you become king! That's frigging unbelievable! You poor bastard, he'll probably just wait until you're _dead_ to give you the keys to her damn chastity belt! And you can't even elope because he's got like an army of elven warriors, all prepared to _keep you a virgin until you die!_ And her grandmother's able to _read minds_ so she can spot _every single dirty thought_ that has _ever_ occurred to you, and then _punish you_ _for them_! And she's got an army too! Eru, you poor bastard! No wonder you're so depressed all the time, you need to get laid! Ahahahahahaha!"

I went on in this vein for some time, laughing until I literally cried, with poor Aragorn standing there looking more and more embarrassed by the minute and blushing like a tomato.

Eventually he couldn't hack it and left, sidling off and away while I wasn't paying attention- not that I cared. I had always been so annoyed with Aragorn because he was so damn serious _all the time_ and to find out that he wasn't serious, just sexually frustrated- that absolutely made my day.

I finally calmed down enough to go back to my room, but encountered Arwen on the way and cracked up again- ah, today was one of those days that make you happy to exist. Coming here was a hell of a trip, but it was totally worth it for today.

November 10th 3018

Today, I once again sought serenity in the gardens, this time sending saucy grins to the elves that gave me Looks, even causing some of the elleth- and oddly one ellon- to blush.

This was an excellent source of amusement in of itself, but in the times when I wasn't mentally propositioning elves, I was contemplating my own history.

I am not quite the deviant I would appear- until the time of my marriage to the Dol Amroth princess Mithraes, I was indeed faithful to my future wife. I did not flirt with or bed any other before or during our marriage, as I was determined to be a good husband. When Mithraes died of an infectious fever that had been spreading through the city, however, my duties evaporated. She had been pregnant at the time, something that only she and I had known- fortunately for father, who would surely have reacted even worse than he did at the loss of his daughter-in-law.

I may have remained monogamous for the rest of my life, but- well, I was spending most of my time within a hair's breadth of death and for that reason really needed a way to feel alive. Without my beautiful young wife to welcome me back to the city, I… sought other comforts. Namely the friendly barmaids I encountered on my travels to inspect our outer defences.

To avoid being known across Gondor as 'Boromir, Man-slut,' I instead introduced myself as Don Juan, a crusader that stole from pirates/bandits/orcs/thieves (or whatever the greatest local threat was) and redistributed the wealth to the poor in my signature grey cloak that I nicknamed my 'robbing' hood. As a result, I'm practically legendary across Gondor for my prowess as a lover and a fighter. It probably helps that I do usually steal from the dead bodies of whatever pirates/bandits/orcs/thieves I encounter and then happily spread the cash around whatever town I visit.

Have I mentioned how utterly fantastic it is to be me?

Oh, yeah.

November 11th 3018

I took my blanket and covered it in leaves, then strung it up between some trees and hid underneath it. What followed was incredibly amusing, as I had one of the diaries with me and quite happily sat with my dirty novels, traumatising any elves that strayed too close. They couldn't see me, hidden underneath my makeshift camo tent as I was, so most assumed that the thoughts were coming from the nearby rooms- apparently their psychic powers are pretty vague, since all they can tell is that somebody nearby is picturing some very naughty things. The entire day, elves would walk nearby, get disturbed looks on their faces and hurry off. Even better, though, were the ones that would sit down and close their eyes, apparently enjoying the equivalent of an R-rated movie experience- among whom were Legolas (I think- he sneered when the dwarf walked past, anyway), Glorfindel (he's the one with the really gorgeous hair, right?) and, interestingly, Arwen.

Curiously, I increased the depravity of the acts I was imagining and the two males left, but Arwen just sat back with a contented smile on her face.

I don't know what goes on in that elf's head, but I would _really_ like to find out.

November 12th 3018

I went back to my tent today after breakfast, and was joined shortly by Arwen, who settled herself onto one of the nearby benches to, presumably, continue her mental voyeurism. Most of the other elves had learnt their lesson from yesterday and avoided this area of the gardens, so that area of entertainment was diminished somewhat, but that was entirely made up for with the weirdness of Arwen's presence. Who would expect the lovely daughter of Elrond to possess such a diverting turn of thought?

Around midday, the lunch bell rang and I began to wonder how I could escape to the dining hall without Arwen noticing me- at that point she chuckled. "I'll be going to lunch as well, my Lord Boromir. Please, do continue this after lunch, however- it is _most _entertaining. Would you accompany me to the hall?"

At that point I promptly left the tent and offered her my arm. "Of course, my lady."

We chattered of meaningless things on the way, but it all felt very natural considering the circumstances. I guided her to her seat, but she insisted I sit with her and so I did, reminiscing fondly of my childhood in Minas Tirith as Arwen, in turn, told stories of Imladris and of Lothlorien that painted a far more mischievous picture of the Elvin race than I had observed.

After lunch, I said that I had some washing to do- which I did, as being bored is no excuse to do something as silly as chores- and could not, therefore, continue with my readings. She replied that she eagerly awaited tomorrow, and we parted.

There ended possibly the most surreal experience of my life.

November 13th 3018

I did my washing yesterday, so I had no excuse not to go and give Arwen mental images of her parents' depraved sexual escapades.

Now that I think about, that was probably one of those events that have never before occurred. Never before, in the history of Man, Elf, Orc, Dwarf or Hobbit, has a man ever had to read and visualise the sex life of an elf's parents for her enjoyment- I should probably feel special for being the first, but I mostly feel weird. And it _is_ weird- really, amazingly, disturbingly weird. It's on the level of trying to marry your foster father's daughter (bazinga, Aragorn) or impregnating your sister or something (I always felt sorry for Turin- his wife/sister killed herself when she realised, and then he killed himself as well. I mean, there's gross, and then there's _Turin_ gross. He took incest to a whole new level). It's just that Arwen has always been this sort of revered, virtuous maiden who really should _not_ be taking an interest in this- maybe I have always just heard inaccurate stories and Aragorn's really just incredibly lucky to be betrothed to somebody that's into this kind of kinky stuff?

I don't know. I feel like my brain's going to explode if I keep thinking about this, so I'm going to stop.

November 14th 3018

Arwen and I were in the tent again today- hey, she knows it's me; she may as well sit _in _the tent and enjoy the looks on the elves' faces- and we were interrupted in our laughter by none other than Aragorn, who apparently takes a rather dim view on finding his betrothed and his rival sitting together in a camouflaged tent reading porn- I really can't imagine why. I mean, Eru, we weren't even _doing _anything, just sitting and reading and giggling a little bit.

Aragorn's just a killjoy, I think, and by the look on Arwen's face she thought so too. He _really_ needs to get laid.


	4. Week 12: Oh damn

November 15th 3018

Since I'm apparently not allowed to hang with Arwen anymore, I sought other amusements today.

The dwarves were busy deriding the elvish metalworkers, so that option was out, and Aragorn still seemed pretty pissed at breakfast this morning- so I'm pretty much stuck with either the elves, who think I'm a dirty-minded deviant, or the hobbits, who I'm convinced are Sauron's most devious weapon.

I went with the hobbits- Sauron's better than Elrond's eyebrows.

They usually had afternoon tea in one of the small rooms near the dining hall, eating cakes, drinking that tea stuff and smoking with Gandalf. Remembering my previous encounters with pipeweed, I chose a seat near the door where the breeze would free me from the smoke, and actually spent quite a pleasant afternoon chatting with the evil little creatures.

Surprisingly enough, they're quite cheerful for demon spawn and the cakes were delicious. I ended up eating quite a few while the five of them regaled me with tales of the Shire and the bizarre happenings therein- not once did they attack me or display the cruelty I know they hold in secret. I'm starting to think that this whole quest-to-destroy-the-One-Ring thing might not be so bad, if they continue to play nice.

November 20th 3018

Ai, Elbereth.

The last thing I remember is afternoon tea with the hobbits on the 16th… Gandalf was late, so I was forced to shove along the bench and was subsequently trapped at the back of the windowless room inhaling pipeweed smoke. After that it all kind of fades out…

What day is it?

"It's the twentieth of November, 'rommy."

Um. Who the hell was that?

I roll over to discover Arwen, sitting placidly and embroidering.

I'm not wearing any clothes.

She's wearing a nightgown.

We're in the same bed.

WHAT THE HELL?

My brain is swirling with so many more useful questions, but the one that pops out is, "Why did you call me 'rommy?"

She chuckled, but didn't look up from her cloth. "It's what you said I should call you. You said I had earned it."

I really don't want to think about what kind of situation would make me say that, but I kind of need to in order to know how soon Aragorn is going to arrive and kill me horribly.

"What exactly did you did to earn it?" I asked cautiously.

Arwen laughed again. "What _didn't_ we do?" She finally looked at me, examining my face curiously. "You really don't remember anything, do you?"

I shook my head mutely.

"Well," she began, "You were pretty messed up with all that pipeweed you inhaled, but you spent most of Tuesday- that was the sixteenth- doing really random stuff around Imladris and basically causing chaos."

I winced, but indicated that she should continue.

"And after you finished dyeing Legolas' hair purple, you were streaking through the library, found me and tossed me over your shoulder, carrying me off to this unused guardhouse near the border of Imladris to presumably have your way with me."

I turned to fully face her, apology written across my features. "Lady Arwen, I am _so_ sorry for whatever things I may have done- I assure you they were entirely the fault of that evil drug that I accidentally inhaled and I can never apologise enough for the indignities I forced upon you."

Arwen held up her hand to stop my rambling flow of heartfelt remorse. "Calm down, Lord Boromir. The fault lies entirely with me- in fact, you were simply trying to braid flowers into my hair when you brought me here. It was I that started our activities and I that continually surrounded you with pipeweed smoke to keep you properly insensible- oh, don't look at me like that. I'm over twenty-seven centuries old and I've spent most of that time imagining the kind of activities that made _you_ blush- and I damn well know an opportunity when I see one. Aragorn's the kind of guy who thinks sex has a menu with only one item, and I'm into _way_ more variation than that. I'm giving up my immortality for him, so this was my last chance to fulfil those fantasies before I die. Nobody will ever know."

I stared at her.

"Could you stop looking at me like that? It's a little weird."

"You intentionally kept me drugged in order to rape me and fulfil your twisted fantasies?"

She shrugged. "When you put it like that, it sounds awful. But yes, I did."

"But that's awesome! How come I can't remember any of it?"

Arwen shrugged again. "You did mention that the pipeweed tended to leave you without your memories."

I turned to face the wall.

"So I just spent five days having incredible, kinky sex with the most beautiful woman in the world and I can't remember a thing?"

"You _are_ a flatterer," she said, smiling mockingly at me.

"Don't be facetious, Arwen. You're the best looking thing to walk on Arda since Luthien, and that's an objective fact."

She just grinned and worked at her needlework.

A thought occurred to me. "Won't Aragorn notice when you two get married and you're not… intact?"

"Oh, he's pretty oblivious."

"Arwen, no man is _that_ oblivious."

"Boromir, I'm been here for over two millennia. In that time, I've done plenty of things that could have broken my hymen, none of them men- bar you."

"You sure he'll believe that."

"Who do you think you're talking to? I'll just take my clothes off and he'll stop in his tracks. Besides which, I'm _Arwen Undomiel_. I'm practically the cast mold for 'virtuous maiden' and I'm the daughter of Elrond 'Overprotective Father' Half-Elven to boot. I could tell him that I've never before seen myself naked before and he'd believe me."

"Huh. He really is gullible, isn't he?"

"Oh, yeah. Anyway, we should probably get back to Imladris. If anybody asks, you braided my hair and then I did embroidery while you were getting over the worst of the drug, too ill to move. Agreed?"

I grinned roguishly at her. "You don't think we could do it again, so I'll have something to remember?"

She just raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "What do you think?"

I sighed. "No."

"That's right."

"So nobody will ever know?"

"Nobody will ever know."

"What if somebody finds out?"

"Nobody will find out."

I looked at her intently. "How can you be so sure?"

She sighed somewhat resignedly and replied, "How would they find out?_ I'm_ not going to tell anybody and _you_ can't remember, so any accusations you make will be utterly baseless."

"Aragorn will still be pretty pissed off if I accidentally let something slip," I pointed out.

Arwen picked at her nails, looking somewhat uncomfortable. "I have... had some foresight. About you."

"And?"

She looked even more uncomfortable. "You don't tell anybody."

I chuckled at that. "So what, you had a vision of me dying and attempting unsuccessfully to say it on my deathbed?"

Her eyes were firmly on her hands when she replied, "Something like that."

There was an awkward silence for a while, as Arwen avoided my gaze and I wondered where my clothes had gone.

The Elf spoke first. "Besides, I'm not the one people should be looking to for impurity, Lord Boromir- or should I say… Don Juan?"

I wanted to smack myself in the forehead. "How much do you know?"

She chuckled in a decidedly evil manner. "A better question would be: what _can't_ I blackmail from you now?"

"Oh shit."

Arwen just nodded smugly.

"So… you don't tell and I don't tell? Sound like a plan?"

She shrugged. "I guess." There was a pause. "Do you ever wonder how many illegitimate children you've fathered over the years?"

I scratched my head. "I try to think of it as my enrichment of the common genepool, but it never sounds terribly good whichever way you look at it. I tend to end up travelling through the town again and always make sure that anybody in the family way is well provided for before I move on, which is more than most absent fathers can say. I usually buy them a small farm or give them a big enough dowry so that another man will overlook the pregnancy and they can get married- whichever ends up being most effective." I stared uncomfortably at the sheet. "There's no handy herb that can prevent that kind of thing, but I always accept responsibility for the result."

Arwen appeared contemplative as she tilted her head towards me. "Is it fair on the women?"

"I suppose not, but it was always their choice to bed me in the first place." I avoided her gaze. "There's a lot more responsibility on women than on men when it comes to sex, I guess, but there's not much I could do about it."

"You wouldn't get married again?"

"That wouldn't be fair on my wife, would it? I'm away all the time on patrols, missions or inspections- there's constantly a risk of me dying what with being on the front line all the time. I would have to love a woman to marry her, but then I wouldn't marry her because I couldn't do that to somebody I loved. The way it is now, they don't expect me to come back so when I do, it's always a welcome surprise. I can spread my wealth around a bit, enrich some dying towns- it's better than the alternative. Nobody gets attached, nobody gets hurt, and when I die in some battle against unsurmountable odds, I won't leave behind a grieving widow."

I risked a glance at Arwen, and realised that her eyes were glimmering with tears. "Are you crying?"

"It's just," she sniffed, "That must be such a lonely existence, to have nobody to love."

I shrugged. "I have Faramir, and Father," I offered.

She waved her hand dismissively. "You know what I mean," she scolded. "The kind of love where you know somebody better than you know yourself, where you know their flaws and love them anyway, where just hearing their voice seems to make everything better in the world- the kind of love that Aragorn and I share."

I really hate sappy romantic stuff, so I immediately cut in with, "And yet I'm the one you're in bed with."

"Shut up. This is just sex, and you were drugged out of your mind the whole time anyway."

"Aren't Elves supposed to think that sex _is_ marriage?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.

Arwen shrugged. "As far as you know, all this is just a massive prank by Erestor to get back at you."

"What did I do to Erestor?"

"I'm not sure what happened before you guys came back within view of Rivendell, but when you did, you had somehow captured and put a harness on a Warg- you know, those vicious, wild and evil creatures in league with the Orcs- and were riding it bareback and naked, with a long vine in your hand that you were whipping Erestor with as you chased him, also naked, screaming, "Dance, bitch, dance." It was unbelievably amusing but he was incredibly pissed off, and he's vowed revenge."

I mulled over this. "But why would Erestor design a prank that could potentially ruin your reputation?"

She shrugged again. "Why would a highly respected, virtuous elven maiden like me sleep with the most conveniently-available Man?"

"None of this makes sense, actually. Is this all just some mindfuck by the author Eru?"

I turned to Arwen. "Do _you_ know?"

She just grinned in response. "And why would I tell you something like that, when I'm _so_ enjoying your confusion?"

I turned away with a scowl and she mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, "It's not like this is just to make you feel better before your imminent death or anything…"

"What was that?"

"What? Oh, nothing."


	5. Week 13: Oh, the awkwardness

November 21st 3018

Today was weird. The elves kept staring at me, all day. Erestor avoided me for much of the day and glared at me when he did encounter me in the dining hall. Arwen sent me sympathetic glances but kept away as well, Aragorn moving to stand in front of her when I went to speak with her. I awkwardly switched directions and went to the gardens instead, where I sat by myself and stared into the flowerbeds. I had been alone plenty of times in my life; scouting, travelling, fighting when my comrades were already gone; but I had never been lonely before. I had never even realised that there was a difference, but now I understood that bring rejected by those around me was distinctly different, and more depressing, than choosing to be alone. It was something that my attractive, educated, friendly, charismatic self had never experienced before.

I sat nearby the hobbits for dinner, allowing their mindless chattering to wash over me until I realised that they were gossiping about the events of the last week. As subtly as I could, I leaned over to eavesdrop.

"Legolas has been unable to remove the purple from his hair," one of the curly-haired midgets was giggling. Hmm. Come to think of it, I hadn't seen him around; that said, I wouldn't be able to tell the difference between him and the next elf if my life depended on it.

"He does not know what dye was used, and it will not wash out," another added. "He went off by himself into the wilderness to find which plants Boromir used in order to find some remover that won't affect his precious hair."

The first one sniggered. "He won't find anything, of course. Boromir used the dye that Gloin brought as a gift for Elrond; the dwarves use it to permanently stain sections of unstable rock. He'll have to cut his hair off," he said gleefully.

Another of the midgets looked concerned. I realised that I really ought to learn their names if I was to travel with them for months, but couldn't bring myself to care at this point. "That was rather cruel of you to tell Boromir where the dye was, Pippin. He will blame himself, despite his addled state."

I was actually quite proud that I had managed such a lasting prank, but hid my chuckles with a quiet cough, leaning forward further to catch more of the conversation.

"Will he be able to undye his hair before we leave next month?" the fourth asked in concern.

That was a point. Legolas would never lower himself to speaking with the hated dwarves and therefore would never learn the remedy. This could be quite amusing.

"Elrond spoke with Gloin yesterday, after Legolas left. The dwarves are brewing a solution to remove the dye."

Well, damn. That kills any entertainment I might have gleaned from this episode.

"Isn't it permanent dye?" One of the midgets asked curiously.

"The dwarves sometimes get it on themselves when applying it to the rock," another explained. "There are particular herbs that can remove it, but they create an aroma that taints the person for months. They practically exile any dwarves that spill it."

I coughed to cover my returned laughter. These poncy, hygiene-obsessed elves would no doubt do the same and exile their besmirched kin. The cure could be worse than the dye…

"It should have dissipated by next month when we leave, right?" a third asked anxiously.

"Nothing could be worse than the smell of damp Ranger," the fourth assured him. "Strider was the worst thing I have ever smelled."

My laughter was choking me as I tried to suppress it, but I determinedly pushed it down in order to keep listening.

"Including the Gaffer's compost heaps?"

"Those heaps are bigger than Mount Doom, with an evil odor to match," added another of the midgets mischievously.

The four of them fell into silence.

"Sorry, Frodo," the midget said quietly. "I forgot."

It was a sobering realisation, that these tiny half-people were going to walk to the most evil land in all of Arda in order to destroy the most powerful object in all of Arda. After all, one does not simply walk into Mordor. There were orcs and dragons and things, all with the intention of killing these small creatures. I wasn't even sure that I would blame them; that Ring had the power to change the whole war. To destroy it was to waste that power, without even necessarily destroying Sauron in the process. By sheer numbers, he will overpower us in a decade. Even without weapons, they could simply walk towards us, surround our cities and make ramps from their own dead. They would get inside eventually, leaving our women and children to choose between death by starvation, murder or suicide. Minas Tirith, the glorious jewel of my country, will be violated without that Ring, her artefacts destroyed and her people smashed and scattered. Gondor has fought this threat for centuries, but even now our decisions are made for us by nobles in their safe little cities, risking none of their own lives or livelihoods.

With that depressing thought, I went to bed.

November 27th 2018

It's been a rather rubbish week.

The midgets have become increasingly frantic about the Fellowship's quest, running all over Imladris in their pursuit of adequate equipment. They are frequently to be found rummaging through the kitchens, one of them earnestly examining pots and pans for suitability and another two gleefully stealing cakes and treats from the larder. I was invited to join them for afternoon tea by one, while the other shot him a warning look and reminded him, not terribly quietly, about what had happened last time.

"It was the pipeweed," I explained. "I'm allergic to it. I think it's related to maresbreath, which I'm also seriously allergic to."

"Maresbreath- that plant that looks identical to kingsfoil?" one of them asked. Merry, maybe? He was slightly taller than the other one; not apparent from my height, but more noticeable for them.

"That's the one. I had some rather unfortunate reactions on the way here, actually."

The two of them gave each other a Look that sent chills down my spine before sprinting down the corridor and disappearing into the gardens.

Since then, I've been on my guard. It would be just like those evil little bastards to intentionally dose me with that evil little plant, so I've been checking my food and water constantly. I only drink from my personal flask, which I fill with water from the kitchens each morning. One of the elves told me I was paranoid when I explained what I was doing, but he's only saying that because he's_ on their side. _They're all against me, I just know it. This whole quest is just an excuse to knock me off and clear the way for Aragorn to claim Gondor's throne. They're probably going to kill Father too, leaving just gentle, naïve Faramir to protect our nation from the conniving bastards and their evil herbs. He's so obsessed with legends of Gondor's kings that he'll probably drop to his knees the minute Aragorn pulls out Narsil, or whatever he's going to call it. _You are truly our king,_ he'll say, licking the bastard's scummy Ranger boots. _Despite you having no ruling experience, no skill at politics, no understanding of Gondorian etiquette and no allies in the South, you have a pretty sword so you should be king._ _Here, let me brush aside my father's corpse to allow you to sit in his chair and belittle his achievements. _

Bastard.

I'll get them. I'll get them all, and that bastard Wilfred from wherever he's hiding. I'll get the Ring too, and kill Sauron, and I'll save my father and my brother from their respectively horrible and sickening fates.

Why am I up a tree? Oh, right, I need to be able to see them coming. Yes, I'll get them all.

Hey, Legolas is down there! I should wave! But wait, he might be with Them… His hair is purple. Why is his hair purple? Is this how Aragorn is marking his evil followers? With purple hair? Wouldn't that be terribly obvious in the forest? He should use camo tents instead, like mine. That's where the money is. Hidden as I am, I could kill Legolas right now and he would never know…

No.

Legolas is… nice? I shouldn't kill him, anyway. He's snooty, annoying and totally obsessed with his appearance but he doesn't deserve to die. Aragorn, on the other hand… And Wilfred. Wilfred is the manipulator behind this whole thing. I should go find him and kill him.

I snuck back into my room and gathered my weapons and some supplies. Wilfred would pay. Aragorn would pay. Sauron… Sauron was a son of a bitch, but he wasn't my highest priority.

I stealthily crept along the various moonlit balconies and bridges that populated Imladris, absently humming my favourite epic ballad about a battle against impossible odds. My mission was simple: find Wilfred and end him. The problem: I didn't know where to find him. My solution was a straightforward one. I would travel out of Imladris and kill or capture every Orc that I came across. The ones still left alive, I would interrogate as to Wilfred's whereabouts and then kill. The Orcs seem to be split between their loyalties to the three Dark Lords: Sauron, Saruman and Wilfred. If I interrogate enough of them, one of them will surely know his location and I can finally kill the bastard.

In the meantime, I can kill as many Orcs as I can find, cleaning up after those damned lazy Rangers. Where are they? Shouldn't they have killed all the ones I saw on my way here? Lazy bastards, they're probably just relaxing back in their homes. Yes, staying at Imladris for months on end is _really_ setting an example of action and duty for your Rangers, _Aragorn_. Way to go there, you annoying, usurping, maggoty ponce.


	6. Week 14: An amicable attack

29th November 3018

After refilling my water flask from a river for the first time, I spent some time sitting in a meadow regaining my sanity. Closer examination of the flask revealed several maresbreath leaves wedged under the rim in what is undoubtedly one of the most conniving and ingenious deceptions I have ever encountered. Those midgets are clever. Evil, but very clever.

I spent the rest of the afternoon enjoying the peace of the soft grass and cool breeze in the meadow, pondering my future plans. My overenthusiastic sneaking on the way out of Imladris had no doubt attracted much attention and mirth, as I periodically stopped to declare my intentions of killing lots of Orcs.

Well, there's no other option; I'll have to stay out here for at least a few weeks. My pride cannot bear the thought of returning to Imladris humiliated. The awkwardness of my previous return was tempered by the trepidation of every elf that I might dye their hair also; in this case, I had only humiliated myself. Nothing awaits me back at Imladris but shame and embarrassment if I return now; my only choice is to remain in the wild and kill as many Orcs as I can lay my hands on.

Here, orky, orky, orky…

*sigh*

I could really go for a hot bath right now.

30th November 3018

We leave on the 25th of December, so I've got about a month to kill. I'll probably go back a few days early to replenish my strength and reassure the midgets, but otherwise I'm stuck out here.

Three weeks without hot water, good food, clean clothes and a warm bed.

Twenty one days…

Five hundred and four hours…

Thirty thousand, two hundred and forty minutes…

One million, eight hundred and fourteen thousand and four hundred seconds…

… without a bed, without cake, clothes or coffee.

I am going to kill those f***ing midgets.

1st December 3018

As I monotonously slaughtered yet another foul, stinking Orc, I couldn't help but wonder if I was forcing myself to do this. The elves, pretentious gossipy twats though they may be, are undeniably friendly and forgiving. Maybe it is my pride alone that is forcing me to stay out here in the wet, cold and spiky forest.

I cut down another Orc and continued my reflections. It was my pride that pushed me to accept this quest, pride that makes me dislike that moron Aragorn and pride that even now forces my hand. Perhaps it is pride that will kill me as well, forcing me into some unmentionable act by which I am destroyed. Will it be my hubris that is my fatal flaw, the one gap in my otherwise utterly magnificent personality?

Maybe I should work to overcome my pride, to humble myself before the elves and Aragorn in order to continue learning and growing as a person.

On the other hand, Aragorn is a prick and I'm awesome. And sexy.

This is totally the midgets' fault.

F*** midgets.

2nd December 3018

More monotonous Orc killing. I've been sleeping in trees but today found an unused rabbit warren, which I'm enlargening with some pilfered Orkish blades and breastplates. I drop the helmets and bodies into the river. I stitch the Orc clothing together into sacks, which I fill with food, weaponry, other clothes and any equipment like rope which I find on their bodies. The ground is hard due to the cold, but after a day or two's work should be big enough for me to sleep in, with a camo blanket concealing the entryway. Another few days and I'll have my own little cave, so long as it doesn't rain; though I suppose I could just lodge a few breastplates into the entrance and hope it doesn't soak through.

At least digging, though difficult and largely pointless considering the many trees I could sleep in, is occupying me better than Imladris. There's no Arwen to kid around with or Aragorn to annoy/ be annoyed by, but I suppose the negative of no Arwen is made up for by the definite positive of no Aragorn. There's no evil hobbits to torment me, no damned horse to attack me, no snooty elves to be androgynous at me and embarrass me constantly with my incorrect greetings.

This might actually be peaceful.

3rd December 3018

Those stupid, idiotic, arrogant, ridiculous little elves! The bastards came out to look for me because, in the words of the leader of the little search party, I "might be alone and confused, ill-equipped to deal with the difficulties of the Northern wilds."

Well, you know, I can't be expected to deal with these conditions since I've never, for example, spent several months travelling by myself without supplies, transport, local woodcraft, guides or companions- oh, what's that? I did that just a few weeks ago? Of course I did, you elven moron. It's _how I got to Imladris in the first bloody place_. That elf is an idiot.

I told him to bugger off, largely because the bastard was condescendingly telling me that I was "totally incapable of caring for yourself, utterly unprepared for these conditions and unskilled in any relevant woodcraft."

He can go back to Imladris and keep himself occupied with sticking his perfectly groomed head up his own arse.

The other elves were sniggering at me behind their hands, apparently finding my unwashed and uncombed hair, dirty clothing and filthy cloth sacks of looted equipment to be rather amusing. I casually stepped sideways, sending an Orkish breastplate filled with dirt into the air and effectively flinging the worm-ridden filth straight onto the elvish party. Their complete surprise and disgusted expressions as they picked the dirt from their clothing was enough to make this entire horrifying interlude worth it.

"Terribly sorry, gentlemen. I do apologise, but I have been digging a safe place for storage," I said charmingly. They glared at me and I giggled internally. The leader flicked some dirt clumps from the side of his face and carefully marshalled his patience before he could bring himself to speak.

"We have been instructed to retrieve you and bring you back safely to Imladris," he said in a steely voice. "If you do not wish to go with us, we will assume that you are still under the effects of the drug and will bring you back by force."

I nodded thoughtfully.

That was a fair point. I hadn't removed the maresbreath leaves from my flask, so it was entirely possible that I was still experiencing the reaction even now. I am totally okay with that, because I feel seriously awesome right now, but that could be wearing off any time now anyway, and I still couldn't face going back to Imladris. If I'm drugged now, my survival chances will be less and I might be injured or even killed by the many not-killed-by-Rangers and inexplicably-still-alive Orcs wandering around these forests.

On the other hand, this elf is really annoying.

I seized the breastplate and flicked more dirt at the elves before grabbing my weapons and absconding up a tree. They were not wood elves and could not follow me, instead stuck with their horses and unwieldy saddlebags of equipment and supplies. I, unburdened by food or equipment and with the element of surprise on my side, quickly escaped. I leapt silently from tree to tree, swiftly escaping from their sight.

I'm like a Gondorian ninja, I swear. I should wear black…

On the other hand, black is actually quite a bold colour in a forest of dark greens and greys. Dark grey would be more appropriate, but I dislike the way that it sets off my complexion. I _am_ covered in dirt all the time, but that's no reason to let my personal appearance go.

An arrow slammed into a tree trunk not four inches from my left ear. I stared at it for a long moment. Did that tree just sprout an arrow? I didn't know that they could do that.

I set off again, capering merrily through the tree tops until I reached the river, where I swung across on a long broken branch. The elves shouted at me.

Their arm waving and dancing around was amusing to me, so I sat down. It quickly grew boring, but then I started watching the trees around me sprout arrows, which was interesting. I don't know how they do the feathery bit at the end, but otherwise it's quite awesome to observe. Eventually they stopped doing it, so I wandered off into the forest.

I found some more maresbreath leaves and wedged them into my water flask. If I am high right now, I really want to stay that way because everything is _freaking awesome_ right now. The trees are really, really green and the grass is really, really soft and I am just going to lie here under my camo blanket and sleep because sleep sounds like a really, really good idea right now.

Allergies are awesome.


	7. Week 15: Randomness and tea

4th December 3018

I've decided to keep sticking more maresbreath in my water flask, simply because it makes the unbearably constant nature of this wet, cold, thorn-filled wilderness somewhat more palatable. If I keep it to a small amount, it should be enough to keep me happy but not enough to make me black out.

Wandered around the forest on this side, waiting for more trees to sprout arrows. I figure if I can collect enough of them, I'll be able to make my own bow as well, or steal one from the Orcs, and use it to kill more Orcs. It'll be like a Ponzi scheme in reverse (maybe?) where I use the arrows to get more arrows. I went back to the riverside and collected all those that sprouted yesterday, but there weren't any more on the tree than I saw sprout then.

Have trees always sprouted arrows and I've just never been around when they've done it? Hell, maybe the trees talk! Maybe they walk and talk and hold secret councils where they plan where to sprout arrows such that the greatest amount of humans will have access to them and kill each other with them, all with the purpose of killing all humans and populating the world with only trees!

Or maybe they sprout them like pimples, like a juvenile stage for trees like happens in humans. Do the trees write awful, overdramatic poetry as well? Can trees even write? It would entail them using the skin of their dead brethren as writing paper… Would they really do that?

I don't know if I would be willing to write on human skin, or even elf skin. On the other hand, I would totally write on Orc skin. Maybe trees are also racist?

Note to self- consider practicalities of orc parchment. Would be just like tattooing?

Wandering with my arrows and no bow, my shield, sword, knife, camo blanket, flask, clothing and some rope, I ended up in quite a dense bit of forest. The trees here were very leafy and green, appearing as almost giant green balls on brown sticks. One of them will make a perfect sleeping spot, concealing me perfectly from any wandering eyes- and also causing inordinate irritation to those prissy elves that are looking for me. Dumped the rope, blanket and arrows in a particularly comfortable-looking tree and went looking for some Orcs to steal from (and kill. Obviously.), avoiding any horse tracks on the way.

Collected some Orkish clothing, weapons, equipment and food supplies. Have made comfortable and sturdy hammock with rope, clothing and soft leaves. Draped camo blanket over self, am now invisible from all angles.

Teehee. I'm so clever.

5th December 3018

Have decided to keep to the trees in an effort to piss off the Imladris elves looking for me. Will have to rebuild stockpile of Orkish supplies and weaponry. Have planned some traps to create around my chosen sleeping-tree and around my caches of equipment, which I will place in a wide circle around my base tree in order to keep finding of the equipment hoard separate from the discovery of my new home.

Have decided to build a separate platform up the tree in order to place a cooking fire and a place to play cards.

Note to self: invent playing cards.

Note to self: invent card games

Note to self: find somebody to play cards with

6th December 3018

Give a man a fire and he's warm for a day… er… oh, that's right. Give a man a fire and he's warm for a day, set a man on fire and he's warm for the rest of his life. Warmth for life but not for long? I'd like my life to be rather long, so I don't know how well that saying will help me.

I've built up quite a large platform, on which sits my fire (on top of a breastplate to keep from destroying the platform), the stove which I have painstakingly created from moulded Orkish armour, the walls (made of Orkish clothing and covered in leaves), a rather nice carpet of woven long grasses and a storage crate made of many sticks bound with strips of cloth.

Quite homey really, I just don't have any food.

Hmm… I am becoming disturbingly lucid. Must find some maresbreath!

7th December 3018

Gnrrr… I am a hungry bear.

Nom nom nom, I will consume the honey tree.

The honey is white but the hive is covered in shiny little buzzy creatures with shiny little stingers.

They don't fly but swarm like bees, trying to sting me with their little stingers but I'm too quick!

I'm like an invisible cheetah, racing all over the place, stinging everybody with my shiny stinger. They keep lying down when I sting them though, there's nobody left to play with!

Oh well, I can just pretend. We can have tea!

9th December 3018

Oh Eru.

I really want to swear right now but I don't think there's words strong enough to make this situation okay. They'd be the Superman of swearwords, the Valar of curses.

Meecrab?

There was a rather dramatic moment of utter panic when I woke up surrounded by orcs and thought that they were still alive, but I soon relaxed when I realised that they were entirely too covered in blood and their own organs to still be respiring.

I was on a picnic blanket made of woven tree leaves and orc blood, wearing an apron woven of daffodils. Various hacked-up orcs, each put back together like grisly jigsaw puzzles, were arranged in a circle around a tea set made of mud and bashed-in helmets. Each orc wore a disturbing grin, held in place with twigs placed against the gums, and each held a tea cup and plate in its blood-spattered hands.

To complete the completely bizarre image, I could feel on my head a strange weight. When I tentatively removed it, the weight was revealed to be a top hat, decorated with several cheerful daisies.

My usual overreaction to maresbreath, I assume, though I note that my baked mud teacup is filled with what appears to be several different kinds of tree sap. Perhaps I reacted to one of them?

10th December 3018

I cleaned myself up, found some food and slept in a tree- I'm getting disturbingly good at recovering from these Incidents.

After cautiously performing my own CSI: Imladris upon the scene, I determined that the fight occurred two days ago, which would make this the tenth of December.

Two weeks to go!

The river was freezing cold but I persevered, the fruit trees were guarded by furious birds but I persevered, the forest floor was soaked and empty of viable kindling but I persevered; and then I went back to the circle of orcs. It was clearly intended to be a tea party, each of the orcs decorated with their own intestines tied into bows. Large leaves had been stuck into place with blood, clearly an attempt at frills, while feathers and flowers adorned each head. It felt like looking into some dark place in my soul, staring upon this gory tea party.

Eru, I need a bath.


End file.
